


stretching out the time

by magicsoul (cherishiskisa)



Category: Monsta X (Band), SuperM (Korea Band), Triple H (Korea Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Chefs, Alternate Universe - Grocery Store, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Enemies With Benefits, Established Relationship, F/M, Inspired by Hallmark Christmas Movies, M/M, Miscommunication, Multi, Polyamory, Rivals to Lovers, lots of silliness!!! lots of antics everywhere!!!!!, there are 3 totally unrelated little fics in this posting, they are unrelated to each other i reiterate this this is NOT a real fic its just a collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:33:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26081236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherishiskisa/pseuds/magicsoul
Summary: mini prompt fics for subscriber giveaway!ch1, (she's my) cherry pie: huina, T, 1.6k, youtube chefs, rivals to loversch2, step with me: triple h, T, 1.8k, established relationship, grocery store ownersch3, fuck you baby: ten/yoongi, M, 5.3k, spin-off of changki band au, enemies with benefits
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Min Yoongi | Suga, Kim Hyojong | E'Dawn/Kim Hyuna/Lee Hwitaek | Hui, Kim Hyuna/Lee Hwitaek | Hui, background changki - Relationship
Comments: 21
Kudos: 49





	1. (she's my) cherry pie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [3hofficial](https://archiveofourown.org/users/3hofficial/gifts), [Auber_Gine_Dreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auber_Gine_Dreams/gifts), [birbiebi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/birbiebi/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hui & Hyuna are both semi-famous YouTube chefs who have never met but hate one another on principle because their followers always compare them in the comments of every video they post. They are approached by an unnamed brand monolith and offered an absurd amount of money to make a collab video, and they have to decide whether their feud outweighs the draw of financial stability"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so recently i hit a huge subscriber milestone on ao3 and decided to copy all my friends and do a mini fic giveaway!!!! if you're reading this and are subscribed to me, thank you SO much for your readership, i'm so grateful and so happy always that people out there in the world enjoy my writing :''')))) 
> 
> ANYWAY, we have two runners-up with shorter fics, and one winner with a longer fic - all of them are in this same posting, but they are unconnected to each other and all take place in totally separate worlds. big fic title overall comes from paper love by allie x!
> 
> thank you so much to yuta (3hofficial) for this spectacular prompt!!! sorry i kind of deviated from it a little bit hehehe. the title of this mini fic comes from cherry pie by warrant. i hope you all have even half as much fun reading this as i did writing it!!! without further ado:

“Ugh,” Hyuna says with a sneer. “Of _course_ you’d be more handsome in person.”

Why does that feel like an insult? Hui almost wants to apologize, but instead, he preens. “I get that a lot,” he says, and she slams the door in his face before he can even come up to the final grandiose marble step. He blinks at the ornate carved knocker, an elaborate calligraphy _H,_ and wonders if that means the collaboration is cancelled, he’s off the hook, he can get right back in the UberBlack and return to his _own_ mega-mansion, all the way across the Hills. Will he still get the brand payout, in that case? He turns to see if the car has pulled away yet, but then the door opens back up again, and there’s Hyuna, sticking a camera up at him and wearing the brightest, fakest, loveliest smile he’s ever seen.

“Look who it isssssss!” she squeals.

It’s a testament to Hui’s consummate professionalism that he’s re-oriented in seconds, effortlessly mirroring her beam and making it even brighter. “Hiiiiiiiii,” he croons, leaning around the camera to air-hug her. “Oh my God, you are _so_ much prettier in person!”

She steps on his foot, _hard_ and on purpose _,_ as he comes into her foyer, but his smile doesn’t falter one iota. He can handle this; his fans have been saying as much for weeks, ever since this collaboration was announced. _He’s going to be so sassy!_ is the gist. _She’s going to be so charmed!_ Ha. As if. He sees her for what she is — an opportunistic harpy — but like recognizes like, so he grudgingly respects her hustle. She’s got him beat by about 500,000 subscribers at the moment; maybe once he posts his (far superior) video of this event, that’ll finally change in his favor. Hyuna is currently leading him further inside, pulling him by the wrist with a bruising grip (her skin is startlingly soft for a chef, he’ll have to get her skincare routine later) and chattering happily about how she’s so stoked that he’s there. She’s wearing high heels, even indoors, in her own home. Louboutins. They make her very nearly Hui’s height — she must be tiny without them, and somehow, in all the time of hatewatching her videos, he’s never thought about how tall or short she is; he’s only ever seen her from the waist up. And it’s a very nice waist-up, nearly as nice as Hui’s, but still. He didn’t think a personality like hers would fit in this little of a parcel. “Stop checking me out,” she says, and he realizes abruptly that she’s stopped recording so they can get set up in the kitchen.

“No,” Hui replies, turning on the charm, and Hyuna rolls her eyes, but sticks out her hand — for a wild second he thinks she wants him to kiss her iconic heart signet ring? But no, she just wants to shake, like normal people do. So he shakes, her grip is tight, and she says, “Wow, your skin is soft. Enough flirting, let’s go over the script, time is money, I’m getting my nails done in two hours.”

Flirting? Who was flirting? Hui hasn’t even gotten started yet. He hides a smirk as they start going over the outline they’d drafted together in Google Docs over the past week (and that had been a mess and a half, Hui had been up until 6 A.M. undoing her edits and leaving passive-aggressive comments on top of her outright-aggressive comments). It’s pretty simple: intros, mention the brand deal, get into the recipe, light bickering, heavy mutual admiration, full ad read mid-recipe, finished product, eat the fruits of their labor in Hyuna’s gorgeous back garden, cash the check. Then they never have to interact again. Hyuna sets up her camera, Hui sets up his, and is he imagining things, or does she keep sneaking peeks at him? He’s trying not to overthink it. The camera is back on — them making pie crust is going on his channel, the filling and construction and finished product is going on hers, which is _so unfair_ in terms of content distribution, but he tries to take it as a point of pride: _his_ channel is more about the art of cuisine, whereas hers is… he doesn’t even know how to classify it. Amateur hour, maybe. Cooking-lite. Feeling heartened by this internal pep talk, he smiles for the camera, laughs bashfully, thanks Hyuna for letting him into her home, they both thank their sponsor, and then things start to go a little haywire.

First, the whisking. Hyuna had put her hair up before they’d started, and it means that when he’s whisking the dry ingredients together and she swoops in to micromanage him, her high pony tickles his cheek. “I’ve always hated the way you do this,” she scolds. (She watches his videos that closely?) “ _You_ do it from the arm. Like this.” She imitates, a jerky, aggressive motion starting at her shoulder. Then she looks up at him, just a couple of inches, but warm, through her absurdly long eyelashes. “But it’s all in the wrist, wrist.” Then she demonstrates _that,_ which comes across as a very unambiguous gesture, and circles her fingers around his forearm to guide the proper movement — she winks at the camera as she does so, saying, “Am I right, girls and gays?”

Which would have been bad enough. Hui breathes through it, watching her fingers (with the nails already painted cherry-red to match their future pie) on his skin. But then she cues him into the Barefoot Contessa joke, “And remember, if you don’t have the time to make this beautiful pie crust— what do we say, Hwitaek?”

“Storebought is fine,” Hui provides just in time with his most Prince Charming smile, and Hyuna laughs in a high peal and _bumps their hips together._ Oh, God. Oh, God, he wants her to fuck him so bad. Now she’s bossing him around, telling him to really get his fingers in there, and his face is bright pink, his ears are burning, how didn’t he predict this? He’d planned for everything except this. This is beyond humiliating, and the worst part is, Hyuna can _totally_ tell.

Miraculously, they finish the crust. The filling is next. Hyuna brings out the big gingham basket of freshly-picked cherries and Hui, desperately not wanting to be outdone, plucks one of the brightest fruits and holds it up to her mouth. She calls his bluff and bites it off the stem, unbroken eye contact the whole time, and returns the favor — “Open up, baby.” Hui is going to be dead by the end of this, and he won’t even see that sweet, sweet YouTube brand deal money. How did this happen? Up until about 45 minutes ago, he’d been convinced he hated her, that she hated him, that they had nothing in common, but here they are, unambiguously flirting and bickering like an old married couple, like they’ve already loved each other for years and are going to love each other for years and years to come, and he’s tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear and she’s laughing at his puns and casually, oh-so-casually, running a hand over his hip as she breezes past him to get her glass jar of homemade vanilla extract. His mouth is metallic with want. She won’t stop _complimenting_ him, too, and he can no longer tell if it’s her saccharine-sweet persona for the camera or genuinely felt, but with the kind of effect it’s having on him, does it even matter? She’s incredible. A force of nature. Neither of them can stop giggling. When it comes time to shape the lattice for the top of the pie, she brings out a box of cookie cutters and extends a heart-shaped one to him, and he looks at her and she _bites her lip,_ which is the cutest thing he’s ever seen in his life, and he cuts two hearts out of their expertly-made crust and lays them carefully atop the pie, overlapping and hoping that she notices.

“Why am I so nervous?” Hyuna laughs as Hui slides the pie into the oven, hugging him from behind, and Hui wants her strap so bad he could _die_ for it, how is he going to walk out of here alive? He closes the oven door, and Hyuna unslips her arms from around his waist and clicks across the marbled kitchen floor to turn off both of their cameras, giving them both a break.

Hui swallows, probably more nervous than he’s ever been in his whole entire life. What does Hyuna, the perfect woman, know about nervousness? With the pie in the oven and the cameras off, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, he doesn’t know how to act. “Um,” he says. Hyuna’s on her phone, not looking at him. Had all of that just been an act? He’ll die, he really will. “So… now what?”

“I don’t know,” Hyuna answers, glancing over. “We’ve got at least 15 minutes before we have to check on it, if you want some water or a smoke break or to kiss me or anything.”

They stare at each other across the kitchen island. Hui’s mouth is bone-dry. “Cancel your nail appointment,” he says hoarsely.

Hyuna laughs. “Why? You’re coming with me,” she says, pointing at him. “I want to show you off. Besides, that’s in over an hour. You think you can keep me busy until then?”

That’s definitely a challenge. Hui, notorious control freak, has never felt better about being less in control. He rounds the island to take her by the hips and tug her close, pleading, and she smiles like the fox that got the hen as she kicks off her Louboutins, jumps backwards up onto the island counter, and pulls him between her legs for a wildcat kiss.

The pie ends up burnt to a crisp. Hui moves in a week later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/paratazxis) / [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/paratazxis)
> 
> thank you for reading!!!! pls lmk ur thots in zee comments!!!!


	2. step with me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Triple H, fun cute funny antics can be established relationship in uhhhhh idk, bookstore, office, setting of your choice??"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much to aleesa (Auber_Gine_Dreams) for this lovely prompt!!!! i had a lot of fun as you will hopefully be able to see >:} for a touch of backstory, this is set in the fictional town of wilmerspear, new hampshire, and is a very silly au with the flavor of a corny hallmark christmas movie >:}}}} title from step with me by mika!

The thing with Hallmark Christmas movies is that they always end just as the characters get together. Big city girl moves in with small-town boy, giving up her career and ambitions to raise orphans and squirrels together, roll credits. For some reason, nobody ever makes movies about what happens afterwards. About what happens when you’ve spent your whole life in sleepy Wilmerspear, New Hampshire, and the love of your childhood life comes roaring back into town with her pretty, vapid New York City boyfriend on her arm, and somehow, you get them to stay. You get them to stay, and they’re both in love with you, too, and now you’re all running the town’s best grocery store together to maintain Hyuna’s grandmother’s legacy. What happens after that? What happens when they wake up in Wilmerspear, population 2,136, and realize they miss Manhattan more than they love you? What happens when they get _bored?_ See, Hyojong has no idea. Nobody makes movies about the rest of it. So how is he supposed to know what to do?

“You okay, Dawnie?” Hyuna’s voice asks, startling him out of his reverie, and Hyojong blinks back to life, remembering that he’s still at work and shouldn’t be moping on his own clock.

“Fine,” he says, and rings up Mrs. Karlsson’s three cans of garbanzo beans. “Are you?”

That makes Hyuna do her pretty, puzzled frown. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just kidding,” Hyojong says. “Um, that’ll be $10.84, please.”

Mrs. Karlsson hands over her cash, Hyojong gives her her change, and by the time he’s finished helping her get her one grocery bag to her car, Hyuna is gone, back in the back room with Hui. They’re probably talking about how much they hate it here and how they can’t wait to go back to 5th Avenue and the Empire State Building. It’s not that Hyojong thinks they’re excluding him on purpose; he knows they wouldn’t do anything like that. But, regardless of if it’s on purpose or not (and he’s pretty sure it’s not), they _are_ excluding him. There’s been a lot of whispering. A lot of evening conversations after Hyojong goes to bed — he can hear them as he falls asleep. He feels foolish and paranoid for even worrying about it, but he knows Hyuna has a sneaky streak a mile wide and Hui has been known to scheme and plot with the best of them, and they’re the biggest fish in the littlest pond, and, well. He wouldn’t blame them, if they were planning to run away.

Hyuna comes out of the back room with Hui following. He’s twirling the car keys around on one elegant finger, and Hyojong allows time for a longing sigh before he remembers two things: one, Hui is already his boyfriend so there’s no need to long, and two, Hui with the keys means Hui and Hyuna are going somewhere. “Going somewhere?” Hyojong asks.

“Will you cover for us?” Hyuna says, pouting at him. “We’ll only be gone, like, an hour. Maybe even less. You want us to pick you up some ice cream on the way back?”

“Okay,” Hyojong mumbles. He gets a kiss on each cheek (to the befuddlement of Mr. Jäger, who is waiting for Hyojong to scan his premade spaeztle) and then they go out through the back, to Hyojong’s car, parked in the alley.

It’s not that he minds them using his car. At all. What’s his is theirs, starting with his heart and never ending. It’s not even that he minds them going places without telling him where they’re going. They’re independent people, they can and should have lives beyond him, because he has a life beyond them, too, kind of. Well, not really. The parts of his life that he doesn’t share with them are just typical Wilmerspear stuff that’s routine to him but boring to them, like organizing the summer fruit-picking festival or the autumn pumpkin-picking festival or the winter sasquatch hunt. But they’re city mice, a former event planner and a former financial consultant, and it was only a matter of time before they started feeling more like lab rats here. Hyojong doesn’t mind that that’s the way they feel. What does he mind? He thinks he might love them so much that he wouldn’t even protest if they started to leave. If they’re unhappy here, and only staying because of him, then, heck, _he’d_ move to New York rather than keep them imprisoned. He sighs again, this time with melancholy, and leaves the cash register so he can go re-organize the dry goods section, which Hui had organized this morning but, somehow, done completely backwards, so close to being right — a perfect mirror-image of what it all should be. Hyojong loves the way his brain works. He’s smiling to himself as he puts the rice back where it belongs, but then his Nokia rings with Hui’s ringtone and he drops the bag to answer it.

“Hui,” he says.

“Dawn,” Hui replies, his warmest, flirtiest smile in his voice. “I’m sooo sorry, but do you think you could close the store early tonight?”

“Oh,” Hyojong says. “Sure.”

“Let me talk to him— Dawnie?” Hyuna says after some rustling. “It’s me.”

“I know it’s you,” Hyojong says. Why is there a lump in his throat? He swallows it, staring down at the ground, at a small dried tea stain that won’t wash out of the linoleum flooring no matter how he tries to wash it. “Sup?”

“Will you close early? We’re on our way back now.”

Already? Well, at least they’re not running away. Today, that is. “Sure,” Hyojong says.

“Oh, _fuck—_ Hui, we forgot the ice cream!”

“It’s fine,” Hyojong says. “We have ice cream here.”

“I know, but—” More rustling, indistinct whispering, and then Hyuna hurriedly says, “We’ll be there soon!” and hangs up.

Hyojong picks up the fallen rice and, cradling it in his arm like a baby, goes to flip the sign. No one else is in the store, anyway, Mr. Jäger is always the last of the dinner rush. How soon is “we’ll be there soon?” Sometimes, when he’s not with Hui and Hyuna, it’s hard for him to remember who he is. But he keeps himself busy with the rice and flours and grains until he hears the jingle of the keys in the door of the back office, and — this is mean, this is unfair to them — but he’s so sad about their potential withdrawal from his life that he doesn’t even come to greet them at the door, he just waits for them to come find him, if they even want to talk to him at all. At least some movies have scenes after the credits that give some insight into how the characters’ lives progressed afterwards. He wishes he could take a peek at that — at the clip that follows the “five years later” title card. But is his movie over? Straight to video, no international release? Hyuna and Hui haven’t come looking for him yet, and he’s not _that_ stubborn, so he emerges from the dry goods aisle to find them, and sees —

They’re standing by the cash register, together, waiting for him. In their arms is a large wooden box, and Hyojong startles, then stills. “Um,” he says.

“You didn’t think we forgot, did you?” Hyuna says softly, smiling.

Oh, no. Forgot what? Their anniversary is Christmas Day, and it’s currently July! “No,” Hyojong says carefully.

“Well, good, because we didn’t,” Hui says.

“That’s… good,” Hyojong says. What has _he_ forgotten? Was he supposed to do something? So they’re not leaving him? He’s so confused, but takes a couple of steps closer anyway, curious about this box despite the complicated feelings swirling through him. “So…?”

“The year that’s gone by since you officially asked us to move in with you—” _Oh,_ that’s what it is. They… remember that? That’s a meaningful day to them? Oh. “—has been… I mean, I’m speaking for both of us here for sure, the _best,_ ” Hyuna says, uncharacteristically sincere and serious. “And we wanted to show you that we’re serious about this. The store, the town, you. So… we got you a little something.”

“Please open it, it’s been _so_ hard to keep this a secret,” Hui whine-groans.

Hyojong, disbelieving, is starting to smile. They’re not leaving. This is a commitment. He closes the distance between them and hesitantly kisses them both before starting to ease the lid off the box, and he gasps when he sees the contents. “This is—”

“Yeah,” Hyuna says. “It is.”

It’s a to-scale tiny model of Wilmerspear. There’s the grocery store, right in the middle, the library across the street, the bakery to the side. The town square, with the fountain made no more than an inch tall. There’s Reggianno’s Pizzeria, the empty lot where the Christmas trees go in December, the one and only gas station. Hyojong even recognizes some of the teeny-tiny people on the streets, dressed in their typical outfits, and right in front of the grocery store are three figurines holding hands — Hyuna, Hui, Hyojong, with Hyojong in the middle. “We thought you could put it in the window,” Hui explains. “Decorate it for the seasons.”

“How did you do this?” Hyojong whispers, reaching into the box to spin the wheel of the minuscule windmill.

“Hui has a friend in New York who makes them,” Hyuna explains. “We commissioned him a couple of months ago.”

A couple of months ago…? That’s when they started acting strange in the first place. Oh, Hyojong has never been happier about being wrong for moping. They weren’t planning on running away and returning to their concrete jungle. No, they were digging their roots deeper into the Wilmerspear soil, settling in for lifetimes to come. Hyojong can’t believe it. That lump is back in his throat, but it’s a good lump this time, and he helps Hyuna and Hui set the model down on the counter.

“Do you like it?” Hyuna prompts.

“I love it,” Hyojong says. He draws them both in close, kisses them each in turn. “Thank you.” He’s not one to make speeches, to say _I’m so glad you stayed with me, you’re the best of my life,_ but he knows they get it, anyway. And, remembering that they both like being validated for their fun, mischievous ways, he adds, “And I’m _very_ surprised.”

Sure enough, they both squeal delightedly. It’s a happy ending, present tense. Hyojong can barely believe his luck. He kisses them again, and Hui murmurs, “Tell me I did a good job picking out your gift?” and Hyojong doesn’t even roll his eyes when he obliges. If Hyojong could pause this moment — but he doesn’t even want to. He wants to live it. He _is_ living it. He goes to Hyuna next, and she puts her arms around him, kisses him, catches Hui to hug him, too. It’s perfect. Sure, roll credits. Hyojong has no more questions about what happens next. He, Hui, and Hyuna all already know.

“Also,” Hyuna says, sighing contentedly into Hyojong’s hair, “I’m pregnant.”

Well, shit. Sequel alert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/paratazxis) / [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/paratazxis)
> 
> thank u for reading omg .. i long for ur comments ... alas no ACTUAL sequel is forthcoming but . well . hope you enjoyed nevertheless :'')))))


	3. fuck you baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "spin-off of your band au where ten is their manager when they're already famous? and of course he acts intolerable half the time and yoongi would have fired him at the very start but kihyun always tells him that they can't function without him because he's a pro and yoongi grudgingly agrees. so their relationship gradually changes from passive enmity to this weird connection with occasional benefits when they both need to let off some steam and don't want to bother pretending to be normal people long enough to find a different hookup"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much to my treasured friend katya (birbiebi) for this absolutely stellar prompt; she won my giveaway overall, which is why this one is longer than the rest! here, i tried to do something radically different with my writing style, who knows if it worked!!!!!! fic title from drunk groove by maruv. uhhhhh this little fic is probably not going to make sense if you havent read my [changki band au](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19826611/chapters/46946989), but other than that, enjoy!!!

It’s official: Yoongi hates the new manager.

Hate. It’s not a word he uses lightly. Most people probably assume that Yoongi hates a lot of things, but he doesn’t. The majority of the world is neutral to him, at absolute worst. But this guy. This motherfucker. He went straight from “stranger” to “enemy” within seconds of them meeting, and then Kihyun said, “This is our new manager, Ten,” and Yoongi hated him even more. Ten was going around, designating everybody into types. Mark: “Adorable.” Jooheon: “Lovable.” Kihyun: “Inspiring.” Changkyun: “Dreamy.” And Yoongi? Ten had stopped in front of him, given him the up-down. “Pianist,” he’d said, with a smirk. And everyone (even Kihyun) had laughed. Yoongi saw red, but gave Ten nothing in response. Attention, that’s all he wants. And Yoongi won’t give it to him. _Our new manager._ Yet another thing Kihyun consulted absolutely no one on. What was wrong with the old manager? Yoongi never had anything against that guy, he minded his own business. But because Ten got them signed to Fuelled by Ramen and Changkyun got to meet Pete Wentz, now Yoongi is expected to grovel at his feet and be forever in his debt or something. No, thanks. He avoids contact with him as much as possible, but sometimes it’s unavoidable. Ten is their manager, after all. He manages them. And, well, Tyger needs a fair amount of management.

Studio album número tres, _Untitled Tyger Studio Album._ It’s a miracle it’s even halfway done. Ten somehow bartered them yet another six-month release delay, but the label’s not happy. Is anybody happy? Yoongi could be happier, he figures. He wants to go on tour again, tour is always great, but they can’t even set dates until they have an album. And they can’t have an album until Kihyun and Changkyun wrap up their current lovers’ quarrel. What are they fighting about? How the album’s not done yet. Chicken, egg. At least their sales for previous releases are good. Yoongi’s house is bigger. He likes how the songs he writes are turning out. But there’s a thorn in his side named Ten, not giving Yoongi any rest. An interview for Yoongi’s high school newspaper? Seriously? Yoongi understands that in-between promotion cycles, there’s not a ton of opportunities for publicity, but this is just pathetic. If that’s the best Ten can do these days, Yoongi doesn’t see the point of him.

Back to the start. Yoongi hates the new manager. Ten insists on coming to all publicity events with them (due to a couple of unfortunate Kihyun incidents early on), so he’s waiting in the car that’s waiting outside Yoongi’s place. Bright and early on a Thursday morning. Wearing a smile inappropriate for the hour, holding a coffee out to Yoongi, already on the phone. “Oh, Johnny, you’re a riot!” he laughs, and mouths to Yoongi _get in, we’re late._ “No, definitely— exactly! That’s what _I_ tried to tell them, but you know how these creative types are.”

Yoongi gets into the car and doesn’t take the coffee from him. There’s a Peet’s Coffee by the school, he’ll get one there and not give Ten the satisfaction. Johnny is one of Ten’s “friends” (Ten doesn’t have friends), and he works for Sony, so if they’re talking, that’s a bad sign. There are attempts at Tyger poaching at least once a fiscal quarter, and Ten brags about his generous counter-offers all the time. Why does he stick around with Tyger if he’s in such high demand, then? Beats Yoongi. Ten yammers on and on, half the way to Sacramento, and Yoongi’s counting cash in his wallet to tip the driver for putting up with this diva behavior. At least he remembered to bring his good noise-cancelling headphones, because he knew this would happen, but they’re still not powerful enough to drown him out. Yoongi tries anyway.

But finally, Ten hangs up, with promises to call again soon with updates. “Ugh, sorry about that,” he sighs, not sounding sorry at all. “It was just Johnny. He was wondering about why you guys turned down the ESPN spot, it ended up going to 5 Seconds of Summer, you know? That would have been a great opportunity, but I told him no, they didn’t want it, they’re _above_ that kind of thing.”

Yoongi doesn’t respond. They turned it down because Kihyun said no, and because Tyger is not a band whose music is featured in Monday night football commercials. They all agreed. Ten had pretended to agree at the time, too. Ten pretends to agree to all of their creative decisions, then talks shit about them behind their backs. _Why not just all move down to LA? That’s where everything is,_ Ten had said, and Kihyun had set his jaw and said, _No, we’re based in San Francisco._ Ten nodded, petted Jooheon’s arms, pinched Mark’s cheeks. _Of course, of course. So important to have a local character as a band. How about half-and-half? Six months here, six months there?_ Yoongi doesn’t even respect his bartering skills. Ten is a weak bitch. No match for Kihyun. His attempts to pit them all against each other and play Yoko Ono fail every time. Ten is now drinking Yoongi’s rejected coffee. That had probably been his intention all along. Ten would never do anything to benefit anyone other than himself. He’s only a good manager because he sees Tyger as his ticket to the top. If they succeed, he succeeds. So here they are, in a hired car on the way to Yoongi’s high school, which Ten has somehow deemed necessary for Tyger’s continued success. And nobody else has a problem with Ten, so Yoongi has no choice but to go along with it.

“This is where you’re from? It’s so cute!” Ten says, half an hour and another phone call later. More saccharine and artificial than a Hostess cupcake. Again, Yoongi doesn’t answer. “Aww. Look at it. So quaint.”

Yoongi knows that Ten is from Manhattan. Of course he is. To him, Sacramento probably looks like an anthill. Yoongi’s not defensive, and he doesn’t care about Ten’s opinion. How has Ten not figured that out yet? He’s been their manager for more than two years now, but he still thinks snide comments about Yoongi’s past will tick him off. This is why he will always be “the new manager” rather than just “the manager.” Yoongi doesn’t care about where he grew up. He cares about where he is now. “Excuse me, can we stop at Peet’s?” he leans forward to ask the driver, bypassing Ten completely. “Thanks.”

“I already got you coffee,” Ten pouts, rattling the empty cup at Yoongi. “You owe me $3.50.”

Ten really does have a punchable face, but Yoongi won’t give him the satisfaction. He pulls on a beanie and leaves Ten in the car, then goes in to order his coffee. Another twenty minutes until the interview. He won’t be late. The barista recognizes him, but doesn’t say anything. When Yoongi gets back in the car, Ten is back on the phone. Typical. They get to the high school with ten minutes to spare. Ten shakes hands with the principal before Yoongi does. Yoongi is beginning to feel supremely uncomfortable, but he can push through it. The newspaper “reporter” is taller than Yoongi and a huge fan. Yoongi signs his yearbook and answers his questions and gets a couple of pictures taken while Ten stands off to the side, chatting with the principal and shilling for Tyger like it’s his job. Yoongi supposes it is. They drove all the way out here for this? He knew it was a stupid idea. But at least it’s over quick. It will be good for the band, anyway. They don’t want to get a reputation as being disdainful of their origins. It’s a small way to make himself a martyr, and Yoongi doesn’t mind.

Back in the car, Ten takes a call from Mark: “Yep, we’re on our way! Try not to miss us too much, cutie!” Oh, right, they’re going over the current demos today before sending them to the label for approval. Yoongi sighs and settles into the back seat, closing his eyes. Maybe he has time for a nap. But of course nothing is ever that easy with Ten, because here comes his nasal voice again: “Yoongi, are you okay?”

Yoongi cracks open his eyes and barely looks at him. “Yes,” he says shortly. It had been weird to go back, but not _that_ weird. Normally he wouldn’t answer a question like that, but Ten gets even more annoying when he perceives a threat to the band’s smooth functioning. Never mind that he’s the greatest threat thus far.

“Good. You know you can talk to me about anything. Oh, I do worry about you,” Ten simpers, and Yoongi closes his eyes and doesn’t open them until they’re back in the city and stopped outside the recording studio.

If Ten is bad enough in isolation, he’s even worse around the rest of the band. How does Kihyun tolerate him? Somehow, they get along. Changkyun tolerates him because Kihyun does. Jooheon tolerates everyone. And Mark, worst of all, _adores_ him. He thinks Ten is hilarious and nice and everything he’s not. That’s part of why Yoongi hates him so bad. Ten is a different person with everyone he knows. He changes, adapts, gives them what they want. But he can’t figure Yoongi out, so he tries everything. He’s a mosquito immune to all repellent. An antibiotic-resistant infection. Yoongi’s indifference is his last bastion of strength. As long as he remains indifferent, he can win.

Now Yoongi has a headache. “How did your interview go?” Jooheon asks, and Yoongi shrugs.

“Fine. It totally could have happened over the phone, but I guess they wanted the photo-op,” he replies. “Any progress?”

“You tell me,” Jooheon says, nodding to the other side of the room, where Kihyun and Changkyun are having a very intense whispered conversation. It doesn’t seem to be going well. Yoongi looks away; Mark is tuning his guitar.

“What was Mr. Min’s school like?” Mark asks Ten, who laughs, flashing a white-veneered smile at Yoongi.

“Adorable like you,” Ten says. “And totally normal, actually, I was even surprised by how normal it was. It was so cute, he was being all shy and polite! I was like, who are you and what did you do with Yoongi?”

Ten laughs harder than Mark does, which is some consolation, at least. But Mark is always hesitant to make fun of anyone. It doesn’t mean anything. Kihyun finishes the conversation and rejoins the rest of the group, Changkyun following. “We’re fine with Track 18 in its current form,” he announces.

“Great! So that makes seven songs we can send?” Ten says. He has produced a clipboard out of thin air to take notes on, the scratches of his pen on the paper as obnoxious as his voice. “If you’re still happy with Track 6, that is.”

“Here’s the thing,” Changkyun says, looking shifty, and everyone groans.

“I need to rerecord my vocals,” Kihyun protests.

“That can happen _after_ we send it in,” Yoongi says.

“We’re not going fast enough to have a full record ready in six months,” Jooheon points out. “We need to send in what we have. Ten has already gotten us more time than we were ever supposed to have— thanks, Ten—” Ten does a flourished bow, and Yoongi hates him. “But we still can’t afford to keep putting it off.”

“Changkyun?” Ten interjects sweetly. “Any new material?”

Changkyun hates being put on the spot and everybody knows it. But for some reason, because it’s by the new manager, Kihyun doesn’t intervene. “Um,” Changkyun says. “We’re working on it.”

“Does anyone else have any fully finished songs that can just be pulled out of mid-air?” Ten continues. “Mark? Yoongi?”

“No,” Yoongi says, and Mark, sadder, echoes.

“Okay,” Ten says, slowly like he’s talking to children. “So we don’t have a choice, I’m sorry, we have to send Track 6. Guys, I know it’s hard, I get it, I know you’re not happy with what you have so far. But a full-length LP is ten tracks _minimum,_ we all know that, and you’ve all done amazing work, and we need to get a move on! Do we want the Grammy this year or not?”

Is this supposed to be a pep talk? Why does Ten include himself when he uses the word _we?_ What does he know about writers’ block, or this band, or the world? His speech worked on everybody else, and Yoongi pretends it worked on him, too. They all sit on the cushy studio couches in this order: Ten Mark Jooheon Yoongi Kihyun Changkyun. Mark and Ten are talking. Jooheon and Yoongi are listening to the demos as the studio engineer plays them, surround-sound. Kihyun and Changkyun are sharing a plate of sushi provided by the label. It’s from Nobu. Yoongi thinks back to the days of powdered tea and gas station snacks in his garage. Not that much has changed since then. They’re still the same. They’d be even more the same if it weren’t for Ten, the rotten apple, spoiling the barrel. Yoongi’s singing backup on Track 9, and he can feel Ten watching him.

Ten. He thinks he’s God’s gift to Tyger. To the music industry, in general. All he is is the reason for Yoongi’s permanent headache. Can’t they just wrap up this album, push through promo, and all go on vacation, far away from each other? That’s all Yoongi wants. Maybe he’ll talk to Kihyun. Maybe he’ll quit. No, he won’t quit. It’s not that bad. He loves the music; he loves Tyger. If he lets Ten get to him, then that means Ten wins. And Yoongi will never let that happen.

Against all odds, they approve the demos. “Maybe that’s what the album can be called,” Mark suggests, hyperactive and overeager. “ _Against All Odds.”_

“Thank you for your suggestion,” Kihyun says stiffly, with a meaningful look at Changkyun. That must be something he learned how to say in couples counseling. Ew.

“Let’s not put the cart before the horse, we barely have an album yet,” Ten says. He somehow manages to make that sound encouraging and jovial as opposed to judgmental and cruel. “But I’m so, so proud of all of you, it’s coming together so well, I can’t wait to hear what else you come up with!” He pulls them all in for a group hug, which they only do when Ten initiates. It’s always supremely awkward. When they break apart, Ten directs a pout Yoongi’s way. “C’mon, turn that frown upside down. Aren’t you excited?”

Not to you. “Sure,” Yoongi answers for his bandmates’ benefit; abstaining from a response might be misinterpreted here, too.

“There he is,” Ten grins. “Our very own Little Miss Sunshine.”

Yoongi feels crazy. He doesn’t know how nobody else notices what Ten is doing. Is he a witch? At least they all agreed on the demos for the album. At least today hasn’t been a total waste. He goes home, to his bigger house. He watches TV. He gets in bed, then remembers they’re all supposed to make an appearance at a UMG party tomorrow night, _fuck._ Swallowing his pride, he texts the band + Ten groupchat: _any chance that party was cancelled_

 _No way!!! We expect your beautiful self there at 11 sharp!!!_ 💖💖💖 Ten texts back immediately. If Yoongi is a rock star, why doesn’t he feel like one all the time? Right now, he just feels like he wants to put his phone in a garbage disposal so he never has to hear from Ten again. Not very glamorous. Ten has to be doing this on purpose, which is hideously unprofessional. Yoongi wonders where he can lodge a complaint. His only consolation, the only thing that keeps him from being kept up at night, is the knowledge that Ten still has no idea that he’s succeeded, that he really does drive Yoongi up the wall just like he’s trying so hard to. If nothing else, Yoongi still has that. He still has that. He still has…

In the morning, he gets groceries. Three people recognize him, and one asks for a picture. He says yes. He meets Mark at the studio to squeeze in a quick re-record of their dual keys-guitar solo from Track 2. He goes to the gym, because Ten recommended they all go at least twice a week in anticipation of the inevitable tour. Someone recognizes him there, too. Kihyun and Changkyun get recognized too much to go out in public too often by now, but fewer people care about the pianist. It’s nice. He listens to some music that people sent him on Twitter. Ten texts him a reminder, _Don’t forget about that party, sweetie_ 💖 and Yoongi leaves him on read because he knows Ten hates that. “You have to actually reply to confirm you understand,” he whines every time. “I need actual confirmation! Can we add this to our contract? It’s really important to me. Yoongi, you’re the worst offender, I never know if I can count on you. Can you all promise to actually text me back? I only text you about important things, right? If I promise to only text you about important things, will you promise to text me back?”

So Yoongi makes a habit of leaving him on read. Small victories. He only texts people that he likes, and, as established, he hates the new manager. Separately, he confirms with Kihyun and Changkyun that they’re also going, and they are. They’ll all meet there — it’s at some mansion in San Jose. Yoongi plans on staying for no longer than a quarter of an hour. Mark always likes these things, but Yoongi finds them exhausting. They even ran into Chanyeol at one, which was weird for everyone. He’d prefer to avoid that kind of situation going forward. Show up, appear in the background of a couple of paparazzi photos, go home. Simple. Not even Ten can fuck that formula up.

Yoongi tries to be on time for things normally, but he doesn’t have the driver floor it tonight. He’s only five minutes late. When he walks in, the party’s in full swing, loud pop music on the speakers with some new Taylor Swift clone singing live and off-key. “Ugh,” Yoongi says emphatically.

“Couldn’t agree with you more,” says a slinky voice by his side. Oh, Christ. Ten must have been waiting to ambush him, and he’s done it. He’s wearing more makeup than the girl onstage and holding a pink beverage in a martini glass. Yoongi kind of hopes someone throws it in his face, then briefly entertains the thought of being that someone. “You’re late! Where have you been? We’re all waiting for you.”

He slips his arm through Yoongi’s and hauls him, surprisingly strong, through the crowd. The rest of Tyger are huddled in a corner, as they usually are at these sorts of things, with a couple more alt bands. Kihyun and Changkyun don’t have many friends, but between Jooheon and Ten, they don’t stay too antisocial. There’s also a tall stranger with a full upper lip whom Ten introduces as the famed Johnny. Isn’t this sweet. Isn’t this great. Ten says those kinds of things so often it’s like he’s trying to convince himself. Yoongi goes to get a drink, and the drummer from Paramore buys it for him. They make small talk, which Yoongi isn’t great at. How’s the album coming along? Well, it’s coming along. He goes back to Tyger. Kihyun is looking at Johnny with a very strange facial expression, but Mark and Changkyun are getting along with him like a house on fire. Ten has vanished. Thank fuck. Yoongi sits with Jooheon, consents to have Jooheon’s arm around his shoulders, and sips his drink.

Eventually, his drink runs out. He goes to get another one, even though Mark offers to get him a refill. And Ten is at the bar, flirting with a very tall rapper with a white supremacist haircut. “Gerald, have you met Yoongi?” Ten says, beaming at them both.

“Uh, hey, huge fan,” says “Gerald,” shaking Yoongi’s hand.

Maybe it’s the one drink or the exhaustion from the album failing to come together, from the weird interview in Yoongi’s home town, from the loud throbbing music, from the way Ten is smiling at him with his mouth but glaring at him with his eyes. “You have no idea who I am,” he says.

Ten laughs professionally, running his hand over Gerald’s arm. “Isn’t he a riot?” he sighs.

“It’s okay,” Yoongi says. “I have no idea who you are, either.”

“Dude,” Gerald says, his expression darkening in seconds. “I dated _Lana del Rey.”_

“That poor girl,” Yoongi says.

Gerald kind of looks like he might punch him. Ten smoothly intervenes: “Yoongi, you might know Gerald as G-Eazy. Gerald, Yoongi is the pianist-songwriter of Tyger. They won Top Rock Song at the BBMAs last year. You know them, right? You’d be crazy not to know them. And your girlfriend follows Yoongi here, _and_ Kihyun, our vocalist, on Instagram. She’s never mentioned Tyger to you? That’s strange, I thought you two told each other everything. Oh, well!”

Jesus. It’s surreal to see the full power of Ten’s annoyingness directed at someone else for a change. Gerald mutters something homophobic under his breath and stalks away. Ten raises his eyebrows at Yoongi, asking for approval. Yoongi looks at the bartender instead of at Ten and says, “I can stand up for myself.”

“I know, but you shouldn’t have to. That’s part of my job,” Ten shrugs. “He’ll have a dirty martini, heavy on the vermouth, very light on the olive brine.” Again, asking for approval. Isn’t Yoongi impressed by how well Ten knows him? No. The bartender slides Yoongi’s drink over to him, and Ten leans an elbow on the bar, smirking up at Yoongi. “See? I’m not bad, I’m just drawn that way.”

“That’s Kihyun’s thing,” Yoongi says, takes his drink, and leaves him there alone.

He’d been intending to stay no more than 15 minutes, but it’s already been an hour. It’s hard to say if he’s having fun. Kihyun and Changkyun are talking to some young mousy lesbian who talks in loud, emphatic gestures and seems to be on the brink of tears. Mark has been sucked up into the vortex of a visiting K-Pop group. Jooheon stays by Yoongi’s side out of solidarity, but then he sees one of his friends, apologizes earnestly to Yoongi for ditching him, then ditches him. Yoongi isn’t even drunk. He hates this party. He checks the Uber app: no rides available. He could call a taxi. For a second, he even considers taking a bus. He doesn’t know the number to call for their hired car service. Only Ten knows that sort of thing. Why is he so stressed? Nobody’s asking him to do anything. Even if they were, he wouldn’t care. He pinpoints the source of his discomfort as the uncompleted album. If he were Changkyun, he could write a song about this feeling. But he’s not, so instead, he gets up and goes looking.

He finds him, social butterfly, near the stage, with some girls from Simon Cowell’s latest venture. “Hey,” Yoongi mutters, touching his shoulder to get his attention. “I need to talk to you.”

Ten turns to see him, smiles. “Oh, hey! I was just looking for you,” he says, and puts his arm around Yoongi. “Excuse us, ladies! Important Tyger business to attend to!”

The girls all chorus a well-harmonized goodbye. Ten lets go of Yoongi and leads him through the party, which is all largely outside, into the body of the mansion itself. It’s quieter in here but still not silent. “This used to be Avril Lavigne’s house,” Ten tells him. Yoongi didn’t ask and doesn’t care. For once, Ten doesn’t keep chattering. It only makes Yoongi hate him more, that Ten doesn’t know what he needs until, suddenly, he does. They reach their destination, a small guest bedroom far from the madding crowd, and Ten guides Yoongi in and closes the door behind them. “Now, what’s on your—”

“Shut _up,”_ Yoongi says and kisses him, hard, shoving him back against the door. Ten reacts the way he always does, a high needy breath through his nose, his hands jumping immediately to grab Yoongi’s arms. He kisses easy, pulls Yoongi close to slot their hips together. He’s been waiting for this all night, Yoongi realizes, and starts undoing his belt. Ten kisses with teeth, with tongue, and Yoongi hates that, breaks away, disgusted, to make him stop. By way of apology, Ten slides his hand over the back of Yoongi’s neck and offers his mouth up for the kind of kiss that Yoongi likes instead. Briefer, more efficient. Yoongi kisses him again, finishes with Ten’s belt, and lets Ten do the rest.

It’s a practiced routine, this push and pull. Ten pushes, Yoongi pulls. They both bend until the other one breaks. This is the only time Ten is ever silent, so Yoongi wants to enjoy it to the fullest. His mouth is so much better occupied with sucking on Yoongi’s neck or cock than it is babbling about potential brand deals. He’s good at it, too, nibbling under Yoongi’s ear, and Yoongi groans, cut-off, urging Ten along, hurry up, hurry up. But Ten doesn’t, taking his time, deliberately teasing even as his manicured fingers pull Yoongi’s fly open, and Yoongi’s already hard because why wouldn’t he be, but Ten doesn’t make a joke out of it — he knows exactly what Yoongi needs.

The first time they did this, two days after they met, it was in the middle of a fight. It’s felt like a fight ever since then, too. Yoongi starts trying to get Ten on his knees, but Ten walks them back to the bed instead, but who goes in whose lap? Ten climbs on top of him, then semi-accidentally bites Yoongi’s lip when they kiss, and Yoongi’s breath hisses out of him like they’re cats grappling in a back alley. Things are getting hazy. Ten pulls them both out of their jeans, but Yoongi’s the one with the gifted piano-playing hands, so he has Ten spit into his palm before wrapping his fingers around their cocks together. They’re still kissing, which Yoongi tolerates because it keeps Ten from talking, and Ten whines quietly into Yoongi’s mouth as Yoongi squeezes, as Yoongi strokes.

As far as stress relief strategies go, it’s better than a lot of rock star-typical ones. Ten is flexible. He’s good with his tongue. Yoongi hates the new manager because he can make Yoongi come faster than most other people can. He runs his hand up the back of Ten’s stupid, pretentious, plain Gucci t-shirt and feels his skin. Ten, obliging, arches his back. “We have a bed,” Ten breathes between kisses. “We can, you know. Fuck. It’s been a while.”

“It’ll be suspicious if we’re gone for that long,” Yoongi says. “Less talking.”

“I said two things,” Ten laughs, and Yoongi pushes his thumb into the crown of Ten’s dick and Ten yelps into silence. Then they’re nothing but hushed, wet breathing and fast, wet movements, and Yoongi can’t help but consider what Ten said. It has been a while; the last time was when Tyger was on tour last year, and they all had their own hotel rooms. Yoongi smuggled Ten into his suite under the pretense of needing room service. Since then, it’s all been this, hand or blowjobs every few weeks or couple months, paced just well enough to keep Yoongi’s lid from flying off. It’s a party. Nobody will notice, realistically. He might want it. No harm, no foul. Ten can tell that he’s considering it, because their kisses slow and Ten stops rocking his hips into Yoongi’s tight hold, taking a breath like he’s about to say something.

Yoongi needs to beat him to it. “Okay,” he says, low, speaking through Ten’s mouth. “Did you say this was Avril Lavigne’s house?”

“It’s not anymore, I’ll send her a thank-you card anyway, please fuck me,” Ten answers, so Yoongi slides his other hand down the back of Ten’s jeans to grab at his pert ass. He kisses Ten again to swallow down his moan. It’s a kind of lifeforce, doing this. Somehow, it gives Yoongi strength. He lies back so they’re both horizontal and starts working Ten’s jeans down his legs, Ten is shivering and gasping wordlessly, and Yoongi gives in and kisses Ten with tongue.

Of course, it is at that moment that the door opens and Kihyun walks in.

“I’m going to have to call you back,” he says into his phone slowly. Equally slowly, he hangs up and puts his phone in his pocket. It’s awful. He’s both staring and trying not to stare at the hideous blazing five-fatality car crash by the side of the road, and Yoongi’s dick is out.

Ten, naturally, is entirely unfazed. “Who was that? Anyone I might be interested to talk to?” he asks brightly, like his dick isn’t also out, like his lips aren’t puffy and wet from being kissed by Yoongi. Yoongi’s stomach turns with revulsion and regret and he moves, sharply, out from underneath him. But that’s not enough to ruffle Ten’s feathers, either. He just rolls to the side, sits up, tucks his cock away, and smooths down his shirt, still smiling that perfect smile. For the first time since meeting him, Yoongi is, at last, intimidated.

“No,” Kihyun says, still slowly. “American Airlines customer service. I’m taking Changkyun on a surprise trip.” Now that the dicks are gone, he can look at Yoongi more directly, but Yoongi doesn’t want Kihyun to look at him. In all the years they’ve known each other, Kihyun has never once had reason to think badly of Yoongi. Yoongi doesn’t want Kihyun to think badly of him. Kihyun looks — not _disappointed,_ not _horrified,_ but exhausted. Exhausted, and Yoongi understands.

“Please don’t tell M— anyone,” Yoongi says. Pathetic. Humiliating. He expects to hear Ten laughing, but Ten isn’t laughing. He’s getting up and going over to open the small bedroom window, sighing as he breathes in the warm Silicon Valley air, as the noises of the party happening outside blow in on the breeze. Kihyun looks away from Yoongi to check on Ten, and he huffs a quiet, disbelieving noise.

“I won’t. I wouldn’t,” he says, with an unreadable amount of disapproval. But he’s not asking them how long this has been going on, or saying he knew all along, or telling them they have to stop for the good of the band. Instead, he only says, “We were going to leave soon. Changkyun called a cab. Want to come with?”

“Yes,” Yoongi says immediately, getting up.

“Ten?” Kihyun prompts.

“I think I’ll stay a while longer,” Ten smiles. “I didn’t get to talk to everyone I needed to talk to. No nights off, for me.”

He’s picked the wrong two men to guilt trip. Kihyun is impassive and Yoongi is almost shaking, like a racehorse waiting for the start pistol. “Okay, well, see you Monday,” Kihyun says and leaves the room, the fact that Yoongi will follow left unspoken.

Yoongi remains for just a minute more. He needs to breathe. It’s not the biggest deal, clearly, in the grand scheme of things. He always knew they’d probably get caught someday. At least it was by Kihyun and not someone else, someone far worse. But still, he closes his eyes and ignores the throb of his unsatisfied cock in his jeans and clenches his jaw. Without opening his eyes, or even turning back, he says, “Rain check?”

“You know it,” Ten says, and his laughter follows Yoongi all the way down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/paratazxis) / [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/paratazxis)
> 
> so that's that!!! thank you so much for reading, please let me know any thots or feelings in the comments or at the links above!!! and thank you so much again for subscribing to me, i have some more fun and silly stuff in my cooker, hopefully coming soon (for all you minjoongers out there)!! until then, hope you all are staying healthy and safe <3


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